


894 Hallmark Movies Can't Be Wrong

by LibKat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Secret Santa, hallmark movie bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibKat/pseuds/LibKat
Summary: Brienne would prefer to ignore Christmas this year.  She didn't count on her friends.





	894 Hallmark Movies Can't Be Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Julieoftarth (Wherethereissmoak)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wherethereissmoak/gifts).



> This fic is for the very talented Julie of Tarth as part of JB Online Secret Santa Gift Exchange.  The words to inspire this fic were: road trip, mistletoe, love confession.
> 
> All the movie titles are inspired by Hallmark Christmas movie titles.
> 
> Disclaimer:  A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones and these characters belong to a whole bunch of people who are not me.  I will return them undamaged when I am finished playing with them.
> 
>  

_Year One_

Brienne had been happily anticipating spending the Christmas season hunkered down in Grinch-dom.

It had been a long time since the holidays had meant much more to her than a good, long break from classes and lots of time to get a head start on the next semester.

After they lost Mom and Galladon, her father had done his best, but the holidays were more like a forced exercise to get through rather than the most joyous time of the year.  Dad was spending this Christmas in Dorne being introduced to his girlfriend’s enormous family.  The (finally age appropriate) woman had stuck way longer than the revolving assortment of lovers (bimbos) who had breezed through their lives when Brienne was a teenager.  Meeting Ashara’s kids was a huge indication that this might be a second THE ONE for her father.

Brienne’s plan to bah humbug her way through the holiday break was all clear on the family front.  What she had not anticipated were her friends.

Sansa and Margaery had proclaimed Christmas to be the _real_ most romantic time of the year. 

That was Brienne’s own fault.  Last year she had taken Marge as her plus one to Professor Tully’s holiday party.  What she had not expected was that her beautiful, snarky best friend would lock eyes with the beautiful, sweet daughter of Brienne’s mentor and that the heavens would open up and an angelic chorus would begin to sing just for them. 

Or that’s how Sansa described it.

She really was happy for Marge and Sansa.  Once they had come up for air after the first endorphin rush of coupledom, they had even remembered Brienne’s existence.  Now she had two best friends where there had only been one.

If only they hadn’t dreamed up the idea of a girl’s poker night to keep them connected when school and work demands ate up their time and attention.  They recruited Sansa’s sister-in-law to be, Jeyne, and Dr. Tully’s admin, Gilly as well as another first year from Brienne’s study group, Asha.  Every few weeks through the school year, they got to together for fattening food, lots of alcohol and bitch sessions under the disguise of playing poker.  They never played for money, no.  Their financial resources were too unequal.  Their bets were more … personal, like combining Chicken with Truth or Dare.

It was Brienne’s bad luck that the game in December was at her flat.  Her not one single wreath, light or ornament on display flat.

“I can’t believe you didn’t put up any decorations at all, Brie.  I left everything here for you when I moved out.”  Margaery had already made this observation several times during the evening.  The more wine she drank, the more whine showed up in her voice.

“Margaery bought boatloads of new decorations for our place.  It really does look like a spread from Elegantly Olenna magazine.”  Sansa smiled at her girlfriend fondly.

“It is way too much work for one person to put all that stuff up, Marge.  I’ve barely recovered from finals.  You know this semester kicked my ass.  I haven’t even looked for a new flatmate.  And I’ve got to get to work on my note for law review.  I think I’m just mostly skipping Christmas this year.”

“Skipping Christmas!”  Every single one of her friends exclaimed in shock.  Even cynical, hipster Asha looked appalled.

“Christmas is just not that big a deal to some people, folks.  Get over it.”  Brienne looked down at her cards.  This hand was down to her and Marge.  The Tyrell luck had been notably absent all night.  Marge was even doing that thing where she licked her lips before she bluffed.  Two pair, aces high ought to be good enough to beat her.  Brienne fought to keep the smile off her face.  Margaery was good at catching tells, too.

“Okay,” Brienne said.  “My bet is, if I win this hand, you all get off my back about Christmas, now and forever.  And I do mean forever, Margaery Tyrell.”  Brienne caught Marge’s eyes darting left and down as she licked her lips again.  Oh, yeah, Marge had nothin’.  “And you can’t sic Olenna on me in your place.”

“I’ll take those stakes.  But if you lose, you have to decorate, celebrate and host a party for us all on, does Thursday work for you guys, Jeyne, Asha, Gilly?”  Marge smiled at each of them nodded.  “Thursday night, Brienne.  That will give you almost a week to get your holiday act together.”

“Oooh, make the bet worthwhile, Margie.”  Jeyne smiled the same evil smile she got when she’d snarfed the last of the cheese doodles.  “Not just a party, a pajama party.  Christmas themed, the food, the drinks, the jammies, everything.”

“With Christmas movies,”  Gilly added, getting out of her shyness and into the spirit.

“Romantic Christmas movies.”  Sansa gushed.  “It is the”

“Most Romantic Time Of The Year.”  Everybody chorused along with Sansa.

Brienne looked down at her cards again.  Marge always bet over the top when she had nothing, expecting her confidence to win the day.  Not this time.  Brienne nodded to accept Marge’s call, and Asha recorded the two bets.  Then Brienne let her smile take over her face as she laid down her hand.  “Read ‘em and weep, Marge, aces over eights.”

Brienne leaned back in her chair and grinned at the table.

“Not so fast, my statuesque friend.”  Marge had a face made to wear a smirk, and it was out in full force.  Dramatically, she laid down her cards one by one, all hearts.

As the other women cheered and planned the holiday revels they were going to inflict on her, Brienne remembered.  Aces and eights, spades and clubs.  Dead man’s hand.

“Some girls on the bus over here were talking about this sappy movie they couldn’t wait to watch.  Road Trip Back To Christmas Town or something like that.  Maybe we can record it to watch at Brienne’s party.”  Asha crowed, grabbing the remote to Brienne’s TV to look at the listings.

Brienne saw her quietly grumpy holiday going down the drain.  By the end of this, she’d probably wish it _had_ been a dead man’s hand.

***

Brienne licked fudge off her fingers as the stupid end to the stupidest movie in the history of stupid movies played out.  Even Sansa, who had an almost infinite capacity for romantic claptrap was shaking her head.

“You just know those two are going to be divorced before Labor Day.”

Jeyne nodded her head vigorously in agreement.  “And I really liked that actor when he was on Stargate.  I’ll never be able to look at Daniel Jackson the same again.”  She drained her beer.  ‘“What’s the next one called?”

“Please, God, no more stupid het couple movies.”  Margaery moaned.  “Aren’t there any lesbian Christmas romances?”

“Nah,” Asha answered.  “These things are all made by dudes who don’t know shit about women.  If those guys were going to make lesbian movies, they’d be porn.”

“Talk to your grandmother, Marge.  I’m sure she’d love to launch the Olenna Channel, featuring intelligent programming for a culturally diverse audience.  It might be her first failure, but I’m sure she’d try it for you.”  Brienne snarked.

“I’d watch that channel.”  Gilly volunteered.

“That’s because you’re a sweetheart and not the least bit mean, nasty or cynical, unlike some people I could name,”  Sansa said.  “Who wants more pizza rolls before the next movie starts?”

Brienne smiled sheepishly as her friends laughed and chatted while the TV rested on pause.  This wasn’t such a bad way to celebrate the holidays after all.  For this year.  Next year maybe she’d take a road trip.

 

_Year Two_

How long had it been, now?  Brienne looked at her watch.  It must be broken.  They had to have been at this for more than twenty minutes.

Brienne liked her flatmate.  She really did.  Tyrion was a great guy, whip-smart and funny as hell.  Thanks to a trust fund, he was prompt with his half of the rent and food budget, and he paid for _all_ the streaming services on the Roku.  He didn’t leave wet towels on the bathroom floor or drink milk straight from the carton.  He knew what a coaster was for.

Tyrion was light years better than anyone else who’d answered her ad at the housing office last spring.  Her other choices had been awful. There was an MBA student who’d offered to fuck her once a week if it got him a job at her dad’s company when he graduated or the Wildling football coach who probably wouldn’t be able to father children after she crushed his balls for grabbing her ass.  But the worst was a psych undergrad who carried three dragon plushies around with her, talking to them as if they were real.

Tyrion even clicked with her friends.  He teased Gilly gently and made her laugh.  He shared Sansa’s obsession with post-Targaryen history.  He could out drink Asha.  He’d already known Marge from the Kings Landing rich kid social network.  It seemed natural that he take Jeyne’s seat at poker night after she and Robb moved north. 

It didn’t feel like he was one of the girls.  He was more like a brother you actually wanted to have around.

Tyrion was a good fit in her home and life, despite all the family baggage that came with him.  Though he’d been effectively disowned for choosing a doctoral program over the MBA his father wanted, Tyrion could not get completely away from the burdens that came with his last name.

Tywin Lannister sicced a PI on Brienne when he learned where Tyrion would be living now that he’d been exiled from the mansion on Aegon’s Hill.  Then he insisted on meeting with her and inspecting the flat, suspicious that Brienne was some kind of imposter or something.  He’d sneered at her cozy Victarian era building like it was a Flea Bottom hovel, and tiptoed around the subject of bribing her to kick Tyrion out.  Tywin looked at her like shit on his shoe until he realized that yes, she really was the daughter of the Selwyn Tarth who owned much of the most popular resort island in the Northern hemisphere.  The same Selwyn Tarth who’d refused every offer the Lannisters had made to develop his North Shore acreage. 

After that Tywin was creepily cordial in a way that made Brienne shiver at every encounter.

Then there was Tyrion’s sister … well, if you found the term raging bitch in the dictionary, there wouldn’t be any definition, just a picture of Cersei Lannister.

And finally came the current bane of Brienne’s existence. 

He’d become a frequent flyer in the flat, dropping by most weekends and at least one night after work.  And that was okay.  Tyrion could have any visitors he wanted.  It was his home, too.  Brienne didn’t even object too strenuously to the random girls she sometimes found in the kitchen on a Sunday morning.  She just thanked God for the thick walls of her building.   

It was just, HIM.  He seemed to take delight in being as contrary as possible.

If they watched a game, he always rooted for the opposite team.  When Brienne wanted to order Braavosi, he wanted Mereneese.  She was Marvel; he was DC.  She was Trek; he was Wars.

Now all six feet plus of golden gorgeousness was happily singing Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer just loud enough for Brienne to hear while he worked on the other end of the string of colored lights stretched between them.

He didn’t even know all the words.  He’d just “da-da, la-la, something” until he came round to the chorus again.

When Tyrion had realized that he could organize his own Christmas celebration this year, rather than following the dictates of his overbearing father, he had run with it.  When he learned that all of Brienne’s decorations had somehow mysteriously disappeared over the summer and she didn’t have so much as a construction paper garland, Tyrion threw himself into doing up the flat the way he’d “always dreamed Christmas could be.”

No Red.  No Gold.  Not even a hint of yellow or pink anywhere.

He, Marge and Sansa had stood around forever in the enormous Christmas décor department of Olenna’s Sophisticated Interiors, debating a color scheme.  When they finally settled on green and silver with touches of white, Brienne, thinking only about her aching feet, made the mistake of opening her mouth.

“Great.  It’ll be like Christmas in House Slytherin.”

God, the hullabaloo that caused.

“No, we can’t.  We absolutely cannot.”  Tyrion declared.

“No, it won’t work at all.”  Marge agreed.

“Why not?”  Brienne whined.  “It’s just a made up dorm in an imaginary school in a fictional world.  It doesn’t mean anything.” 

Margaery and Tyrion, proud Ravenclaws that they were and Hufflepuff to her toes Sansa, all gasped in shock.

“Come ooooooon, guys.  We’ve been standing here for years.  If you have to debate the color scheme again, it will be Easter before you’re through.”

“Think about it, B,”  Tyrion said.  “Have you ever met two more entirely Slytherin people than my father and sister?  I want to get away from them this year, not be reminded of them every day.”

So here Brienne sat with Tyrion’s irritating, handsome and irritatingly handsome brother, Jaime, replacing all the red and gold lights in the string with other colors to match the blue, silver and purple decorating scheme that was overtaking her flat.  Thank God, the decorating maniacs had settled on only having a single string of colored lights “as an accent” on the tree or she’d be stuck on the floor next to this really delicious smelling jackass until February.

Sansa was hanging miles of clear lights on the enormous fir that Brienne had manhandled up the stairs all by herself.  Jaime didn’t show up til the hard physical labor was already done.

“Do we have everything ready for tonight?”  Margaery asked.

“Yep, I set up the DVR to record The Christmas Oathkeeper, A Khal for Christmas and Mistletoe Over Maidenpool last week.  They should be all ready and waiting for tonight.”

Brienne groaned at the thought.

“No, no, no, wench.”  Jaime dropped out on another chorus of the world’s most aggravating Christmas song.  “The colors go, blue, purple, green.”

Brienne watched as Marge went up the stepladder again to hang more clusters of holly.  Even the red berries had been covered in silver glitter.

“What’s so wrong with red and gold, anyway?”  Brienne muttered.

Not low enough.

“Gryffindors!”  Marge growled, her eyes rolling.

Jaime smirked at her lack of knowledge.  “Red and gold are the Lannister colors.  Didn’t you learn any history, wench?  The family manse gets buried under red and gold at Christmas.  It’s so over the top; it looks like the Red Wedding held in a goldmine.  I swear Dad has botanists working on producing a pine tree with red needles so that one day he won’t have to adulterate any of his holiday decor with something so plebeian as green.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Am I?”  Jaime smiled a Cheshire Cat grin for a moment before his expression edged towards serious.  “Christmas chez Lannister is miserable.  Sycophantic underlings jockeying for position around my father, business rivals competing for who can make the most ostentatious display of wealth, my sister’s husband weaving through it all drunk as a skunk, grabbing as many boobs and backsides as he can reach.  And Dad presiding over it all, with his smell the fart look on his face.”

Tyrion looked over from where he was filling stockings with a variety of mini bottles of booze, his party gift to the poker group.  “Are you talking about Father, Jaime?  No talking about Father allowed.  Don’t harsh my Christmas vibe.”

Jaime’s phone started to play the Darth Vader theme.  “Speak of the devil and he appears.”  He stood and went out onto the landing to take his call.  After a couple of minutes, he came back in, his face pinched.

Tyrion picked up on the change in his brother’s mood immediately.  “What’s wrong?”

“Dad invited the Martells for dinner tonight, including Arianne.”  All the color had left Jaime’s voice.  He plopped back down on the floor, his usual grace absent.

“Shit.”  Tyrion declared.

“Why is that a problem?”  Margaery asked, looking down from the stepladder.  “Ari’s a little pushy, but not actively objectionable.”

“Arianne Martell is …” Jaime began and then petered out.

“Arianne Martell is the latest in the long line of heiresses and debutantes that Father has been throwing at Jaime’s head for years,”  Tyrion explained.  “You were actually slated to be next, Margie, but you removed yourself from the running when you frenched Taena Merryweather at the cotillion four years ago.  Father’s going to wait another year or two before writing off Sansa as a contender, in case she gets over this ‘phase’ of hers.”  Tyrion did the ironic finger quotes.

Sansa and Marge both laughed uproariously at the idea.  Jaime looked a bit offended.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m quite the catch.  I’m rich, handsome, intelligent, charming,”

“Modest and you have all your own teeth.”  Brienne interrupted his list of virtues.

Sansa looked a bit ashamed.  “I apologize, Jaime.  If I were into guys, I’d be happy to date you.”

Marge rolled her eyes again.  “You and I would likely kill each other for more time in the bathroom before the honeymoon was even over.”

“There’d certainly be bloodshed over shelf space for hair products.”  Tyrion laughed, then he looked at Jaime with sympathy in his eyes.  “Don’t go back to the mansion tonight.  Embarrass the old bastard.  That’ll serve Father right for ambushing you.”

“And go where?  I’ll have to go home to sleep if nothing else.”

_Oh, no, no, no._

“Stay here with us.”  Marge invited, ignoring Brienne’s appalled expression.

“Last time I looked, you don’t live here, Margaery.  Unless there’s something naughty that Tyrion isn’t telling me.  And Tyrion always tells me everything naughty, no matter how much I beg him to stop.”

“Tonight we do.”  Sansa smiled at the room in general.  “Tonight is Christmas slumber party night.”

“Obviously, Tyrion _is_ leaving things out.”  Jaime looked at his brother, outraged.  “There are slumber parties and you didn’t tell me?!  Do they wear those shortie pajamas and have pillow fights?”

Tyrion snorted.  “This will be the first slumber party since I moved in.  I wouldn’t keep deets like that to myself, bro.  Give me some credit.”

“There will be no baby doll pajamas and NO pillow fights,”  Brienne said oppressively.  “Don’t get any more ideas, Margaery Tyrell.  It wasn’t in the bet, so I don’t have to do it.”

“Okay, I seem to be missing lots of information,”  Jaime said.  “There’s a slumber party _bet_?”

“Yes, and Brienne lost it.  So she has to host a Christmas themed sleepover every year for the rest of her life.”  Margaery explained.  “Yes, every year, Brienne Tarth.  Everyone else agreed that was the spirit of the bet,” Marge turned her attention to Jaime.   “The dress code is Christmas themed nightwear.  I will wear a pair of tastefully luxurious, Christmas green, silk pajamas, from Olenna’s Secret, of course.  Sansa has a favorite flannel nightie with Santas and reindeer printed on it.  Gilly has a candy cane onesie.  Asha and Brienne will each make do with sweatpants and one of the million ugly Christmas sweaters Brienne has gotten from her great aunts over the years.”

“And I have purchased a seasonally appropriate nightshirt, complete with nightcap.”  Tyrion grinned.

“Which you WILL wear with boxers.”  Brienne stared hard at Tyrion.

“Ruin all my fun, why don’t you?”  Tyrion pouted.

“Ruin your fun?  Dude, it’s a slumber party.  A girl’s slumber party!  I’m so in!”  Jaime did a little seated happy dance right there on the floor.

“What’s the big deal?”  Brienne asked.  “You have a sister.  Surely she had sleepovers with her friends.”

“Our sister didn’t really have friends, only minions.  She was no more charming as a girl than she is now.”  Jaime snarked.

“That’s a whole lot of not charming,”  Sansa muttered.

“Yes, Sansa, yes it is.  You and I are about the same size, wench.  Got some sweats and an ugly sweater I can borrow?”

***

Brienne came to slowly.

Oh, man, those Jell-O shots were lethal.  How did Jaime make them so strong?  And why did she let herself get talked into playing the Hallmark movie drinking game?

Her mouth felt like the floor of Santa’s reindeer stable.  Her head was pounding inside, and there was a weird, rhythmic thrumming noise in her ear.  Her mattress was cold and hard.  Her pillow was strangely firm and lumpy.

Brienne peeled one eye open and then shut it again, wincing.  It was way too bright.

Something was brushing against her forehead.  Waxy leaves, sticky berries. Why was there mistletoe clipped in her hair, like the idiot girl in that stupid movie?

Brienne tried opening the other eye and was assaulted with the face of a leering elf.  Just like on last year’s Christmas sweater.

The sweater that she loaned to …

“Oh crap!”  Brienne jackknifed up, and her head swam with the sudden movement.

“Jesus, wench, pipe down.”  With his eyes still closed, Jaime raised his arm and moved it vaguely in her direction, grasping her shoulder and pulling her back down towards his chest.  “Too early.  Go to sleep.”

Brienne struggled as much as her pounding head and heaving stomach would allow. “Let go of me.  What are you doing?”  She whispered.

“Yes, Jaime, Brienne, what _are_ you doing?”  Tyrion’s voice crowed.

“Gettin’ pretty comfy by the looks of it.”  Marge snarked.

“Smile for the camera, guys.  Your grandkids are going to want to see how it all began.”  Asha moved her cell phone around to get several different angles.

The brightness of the flash was a step too far.  Brienne ran for the bathroom, dropped to her knees and hurled.  Maybe she would just stay in here until next Christmas.

 

_Year Three_

The Christmas party had become a couples event this year. 

After graduation, Asha had moved home to the Iron Islands.  She’d sent greetings and a couple of bottles of Pyke’s finest whiskey (which was just a step above paint thinner.) Gilly had followed her sweetheart to Oldtown last spring.  A tin of her special fudge had come with today’s mail.

Sansa and Marge would be arriving in about an hour, after meeting with their wedding planner.  They had debated a Christmas ceremony for months, but ultimately, Margaery Tyrell didn’t want to share the limelight, even with Christmas. 

As their mutual maid of honor, Brienne was sure that the next few weeks would be a special kind of bridezilla hell.

Tyrion had surprised everyone last spring by falling head over heels for a quietly pretty florist several years his senior.  Tysha was as down to earth as Tyrion was over the top.  They made an excellent pair.

And then …

Brienne knew Jaime was probably planning some ridiculous display for tonight.  It was, he claimed, their first anniversary.

Brienne had tried to forbid any kind of extra celebration.  Waking up hungover and cuddled together on the floor was not the start of their relationship.

That came when they had shared tipsy kisses, then tipsy groping on New Year’s Eve, followed by enthusiastically sober sex on New Year’s Day, and the next day and the next, until it was obvious that Jaime was never moving back to Lannister House.

Brienne did one last check of the party supplies.  Another set of alcohol filled stockings had been hung by the chimney with care.  Jaime had printed off multiple copies of the Hallmark movie drinking game before he went off to work that morning. 

This year a deadline at Jaime’s job and Brienne’s clerking for Justice Selmy hadn’t afforded them much prep time. Instead of the usual junk food, there was an elegant buffet catered from Entertaining By Olenna set up in the dining room.  It was a final test run of the menu for Sansa and Marge’s wedding dinner. 

And the poker table was all set up for old time’s sake.

***

Brienne was sprawled on the sofa this year instead of the floor.  They were in the middle of the second movie of the evening.  She was debating if she had room for another mini-éclair when Northpole Love Confession broke for commercial.  The incongruous noise of Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer blared out from the TV.  Startled she sat up and goggled to see her boyfriend looking big as life and twice as handsome on the screen.

Sansa and Marge gasped, and Tyrion dropped his face into his hands and whispered, “No.  He didn’t.”

“Have I got your attention, wench?  Good.”  TV Jaime said.  Brienne whipped her head around looking for real Jaime.  He must be hiding in the bathroom.  She was so going to kick his ass.

“Some of you watching this channel may recognize me.  Jaime Lannister, Kings Landing’s most eligible bachelor ten years running.  Well, I am announcing to the world that I am officially, finally and forever off the market.”

The Darth Vader theme began to play from three different phones in the flat.

Jaime directed his sincerest, most soulful green gaze directly into the camera. “Brienne, my lady.  My love.  This last year, yes, _year_ , wench, has been the happiest I’ve ever had.  I can’t even remember what my life was like before you.  I do know that it was darker and colder and a lot less fun.”

“I am sure beyond any doubt that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Brienne.  I hope that on this, our first anniversary, you will look favorably on my Christmas love confession and make me the happiest man in the world.”

Marge and Tysha were sniveling, and Sansa was outright bawling into the sleeve of her flannel nightie.

As TV Jaime knelt before the camera and opened a small box, the Darth Vader theme cut off and The Bitch Is Back began blaring from Tyrion’s phone.

“Brienne Tarth, will you marry me?”

“JAAAAIIIIMMMEEEE!!!!  Lannister, you get your ass out here right now!”

The bathroom door opened and one green eye peeped around the edge.  The door started to shut again.

“Close that door, mister, and I will break it down.”  Brienne rose from the sofa and strode across the floor.

Jaime must have taken her threat seriously because he walked back into the living room.

Brienne stood and looked at him.

_Crap.  He took off his shoes.  He knows what his bare feet do to me._

She took a deep breath and tried to stay strong.

_Double crap.  He pushed up the sleeves of his sweater.  He **knows** what his forearms do to me._

Jaime smiled the crooked little smile he saved just for her.  And Brienne was lost.

“Yes.”  She sighed heavily.

“Yes?”  He said hopefully.

“Yes!”  Their friends yelled in unison.

Jaime dropped to his knees and took Brienne’s hand.  An antique sapphire ring slid onto her finger as smooth as silk.

Brienne pulled her fiancé to his feet and into her arms.

They must have kissed for a really, really long time.  When they came up for air, their friends had gone back to eating and watching the movie.

Jaime’s eyes promised all kinds of wickedness for later.  He leaned over and whispered in Brienne’s ear.

“Jell-O shots while we wait?”

“Yeah, Jell-O shots.  Our own Christmas tradition.”

“Nobody would watch A Jell-O Shot Christmas,” Tyrion observed.  “Nobody.”

 

 


End file.
